


Little Man

by TerresDeBrume



Series: AUs without a cause [16]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine is drunk. Arthur isn’t, but it doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the night anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Man

**Author's Note:**

> The last of my crossposts! This was my first attempt at smut/porn and I still think it wasn't too awful, for a first time. But of course, I can't really judge my own work :)

“ _You_  are the  _worst_  conceited  _asshole_  I  _ever met_ ,” Gwaine slurs, and Arthur frowns:

“ _I_ am Prince of Camelot, and you would do well to remember it if you don’t want to end up in the dungeons!”

“Oh  _yes_ , the dungeons,” Gwaine continues, one arm still pinning Arthur against the wall. “That’s all you can do eh?  _Daddy,_ ” he mocks in a high pitched voice, “ _I don’t like this man, send him to the dungeon_!”

“I do not—”

“ _Daddy,_ ” Gwaine forces on, crowding in Arthur’s personal space, “ _I can’t help making eyes at my manservant, throw him to the stocks so he can get ugly_.”

“It’s not—I don’t….” Arthur can feel his breath get more erratic, more irregular, and he tries to get his face away from Gwaine’s, only for the other man’s breath to fall on his throat, sending sparks down his back.

“ _Daddy,_ ” Gwaine says, voice much lower, like he’s trying to  _seduce_  someone, “ _My little soldier is a tad too happy to see Gwaine. We should throw him in the dungeons._ ”

 

Any protest Arthur thought to make is cut short by the brush of Gwaine’s thrigh against his own erection, and he sucks in a breath because  _yes_. Yes, he  _does_ make eyes at his manservant, and at some of the knights, and random strangers on the streets. Because he knows he’s not supposed to, because he knows he needs to forget, to abandon these thoughts and concentrate on the idea of a wife and children like a real man.

But a wife, children, all this is so distant, and Gwaine is right here, real and warm and  _hard_ and Arthur’s throat catches on a whimper when their crotches brush together.

 

“Tomorrow,” Gwaine says low in his ear, “I will leave Camelot, and I will never come back again, little boy.” He mouths at the side of Arthur’s neck, right at the junction of ear and jaw, and he adds: “Why not enjoy tonight, and make you into a real man?”

 

Arthur shoves him off, helped by the ale that makes Gwaine’s steps unsteady, and pushes the other man into the opposite wall, uses all his weight and strength to keep him there, but Gwaine’s mouth is more than welcoming when Arthur clashes their lips together.

It’s a messy tangle of tongues and saliva, one hand fisted in Gwaine’s long hair while the other fumbles at his waist, unsure of what it’s supposed to do.

 

“So you really  _are_  a boy,” Gwaine smirks when Arthur has to breathe. “Should we remedy that then? I’m sure your bed—”

“ _No_ ,” Arthur growls.

 

There’s too much risk in that option. Too many chances to be seen in the morning, too much risk that someone will see Gwaine leave. He clenches his fist into the collar of Gwaine’s worn shirt and drags him toward the stables as fast as his stiff cock allows him.

There are a few empty stalls in the back, where they stock the straw, and that’s where Arthur directs them, pushing the door closed behind them. He attacks Gwaine’s mouth as soon as he feels like he safely can, and  _yes_ , that’s what feels right. Not the soft mouth of chamber maids, nor the curves of their breast, but the rough feel of Gwaine’s beard against his chin, the hard muscles of his shoulders, of his waist, the feel of another cock against Arthur’s.

Gwaine half-laughs, half-groans, and he trips Arthur in the straw, the bulge in his breeches accented by the new angle.

 

“Enthusiastic,” he says, “I like that. You do lack experience though. Should I show you how it’s done?”

“Shut up,” Arthur growls with the trademark Pendragon glare, “and get to work.”

 

Gwaine laughs heartily, and the thin moonbeam coming through the hole in the roof makes the tip of his hair shine with silver.

 

“As you wish, your highness.”

 

He falls to his knees in front of Arthur and kisses him again, harder than before, hands working at the laces of the prince’s breeches until his cock is free, thick and hard between them. Gwaine grins, mischievous to the very end, and Arthur gasps when his mouth closes on him.

This isn’t his first blowjob by any mean, and he always thought it wouldn’t be very different than it was with the women he’s had up until now. But the fact that Gwaine is a man, the feel of his beard against Arthur’s sensitive skin, all this makes it feel ten times better than it has with any woman, and Arthur fists at Gwaine’s hair with a shaky hand, trying to imprint the feeling in his memory, to keep it with himself for future lonely nights.

 

He feels cold when Gwaine takes his mouth off him, but the thrill of the kiss they share, the taste of himself on Gwaine’s tongue, it’s enough to silence his protests. Gwaine puts two fingers in his mouth and Arthur licks them, wondering what it would be like to lick something else, to suck Gwaine off and have the man come in his mouth, wonders what it would be like to feel the weight of a cock on his tongue.

He writhes in Gwaine’s grasp, trying to rub his aching cock against the man’s thigh, but a hand pins his hips to the ground, and Gwaine’s mouth goes back to work on his erection. Arthur sighs, bites back a groan, and swears when he feels one of Gwaine’s fingers tease at his hole before entering him in one go.

It’s a weird sensation, stretching around a foreign object, and certainly not something he would have thought to do on his own, but Gwaine is still licking him, and it helps him relax and enjoy. Gwaine works at him for a while longer before he inserts a second finger and, when Arthur is finally lax aroung him, he starts making scissoring motions, and Arthur’s hand tightens in his hair, while he bites the other to avoid making too much noise.

 

It doesn’t take very much longer for Gwaine to bring him to the edge and over, teeth clenching hard enough to draw blood between his knuckles as he spills in Gwaine’s mouth, while the latter milks off the last of his orgasm.

 

“Well,” Gwaine says when they’ve both found a more normal breathing rhythm, “That was certainly interesting. Hope you’ll remember that for a while, little man,” he says, and Arthur tugs at his hair hard enough to make him fall into the straw.

 

Gwaine laughs when Arthur takes him in his mouth.

 

It doesn’t last.


End file.
